


Queen Of The World

by oliveriley



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/F, Joniss - Freeform, Tumblr Prompt, i saw the prompt i heard the song had to be done, jonissheadcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliveriley/pseuds/oliveriley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"i really want an <i>i accidentally broke into your house/apartment because my friend lives next door to you and i was in the area, drunk, and i thought i was climbing into the right window and falling asleep on the right couch (and i did wonder when my friend got two cats but i didn’t question it) so now i’m hungover and shirtless in your living room so um hi howya doin</i> au"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alright. I feel like we know the drill: I don't own the characters. This prompt ain't mine. I didn't write, record, perform, or otherwise hold any rights to the song that inspired this. Which, if you're curious, is Ida Maria's <i>Queen Of The World</i> and it's awesome. I'd recommend Ida's music to anyone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen Of The World

She threw her head back with another roar of laughter, shoving her friend when he got a little too close. She rolled her eyes and dragged someone to the open floor, her body snaking and twisting and grinding and dropping and rising like a tide. She was a storm in a human shell and she was raging. The calm had come earlier - it was a Friday, and some coworkers knew she would have a good time. It was easy. It was like flipping a switch - pour her some whiskey and the woman lit up. A girl on fire; a woman who had her soul replaced with crashing, roiling waves and swirling clouds itching to break out of the seams of her skin. And it was infectious.

At the beginning of the night, it began like it always did. There was Jack and Coke, and as time progressed, there was progressively less Coke in the Jack, and soon enough it didn't even burn when the whiskey tore its way down her throat. The amber liquid oiled her joints, though, stiff from hours of her demanding job hauling and chopping lumber in the yard. But eventually - and she knew she would feel it in the morning, but for now, it was gone - the soreness and exhaustion melted into a laughing, dancing queen.

"Jo, let someone drive you home," one of the men persisted, his broad and haggard face drawn with concern for the young woman. In return, he got what was assumed to be a cavalier flick of the wrist, which was actually a very loose arm swung in his general direction. "I have your keys," he droned, and Johanna screwed up her face at him, mockingly, before rolling her eyes.

"I _know_ you have them, brainless," she jeered, rolling her head back as she struggled into her flannel, which she left unbuttoned over her tee shirt for the journey she had decided to take. " _I'm_ not brainless," she added, with a wild cackle. Her own jokes were decidedly funnier than anyone else's ever at this point, and it took her a minute to compose herself. "I'm walki... walking to Finn's." Her unsteady answer wasn't exactly the best at boosting morale, but Blight knew better than to argue, and just rolled his eyes and saw her to the parking lot.

\--

A good half hour later saw a very drunk Johanna Mason cursing loudly as she scaled a four-foot wooden fence into a backyard. "FUCK!" she hissed, though it was more of a small shout, as she landed in a undignified heap on the lawn. She sat, frowning deeply as she surveyed the yard. Had Finnick and Annie gotten rid of the playset? No, she decided, it was just the darkness and the whiskey and the fall. The fall that hurt her ass all the way up her back. "Ow," she whined to no one in particular, as she tried to gather herself to stand. It was unreasonably unsteady, and she blinked a few times, staggering like a fawn just born into the Springtime, all legs and no grace. "Finn," she reminded herself, determined to make it to her best friend's sofa. 

Not terribly long ago, Finnick O'Dair was her wingman. Clubs, smokes, ladies, the whole works. Until Annie. And it wasn't that Johanna didn't like Annie - they adored each other - but now they had this precious suburban life while the lumberjack still partied hard. And, subsequently, ended up crashing on their sofa every now and again. And every time, Johanna would wake up to a bottle of pills and a glass of water, and the enticing smell of Annie's waffles in the morning. Her hangovers were not lessened by the birth of Storm, their son, who was now two and _loved_ to wake Auntie Jo up by bouncing on her very tender stomach and driving a jackhammer of his voice into her dehydrated brain. But she could never begrudge her godson. However irresponsible that decision was.

Annie's waffles excited her more, and she jimmied the door. Locked. With a heavy sigh, she trudged to one of the windows and pried it open, grinning when she found her entrance. "Thank you," she mumbled, clawing her way up the small distance to the sill, where she rolled into the house and hung on much like a sloth, slipping to the dining room floor. No. It had carpet. This was a _living room._ Was it _always_ set up like this? As Johanna shut the window as quietly as she could muster, she narrowed her eyes at her surroundings suspiciously. Maybe it was a prank. But she was pretty fucking sure that the last time she used the window to come in, it was the kitchen she landed in. Her memory was fogged with the thick promise of sleeping off her drunken stupor, so she fumbled in the dark until she hit the sofa (which she could _swear_ was at a different angle tonight). Flopping down and floundering about for a minute, she finally wrestled her way out of her shirts and bra, letting them fall in a heap on the floor. It took all of a minute and a half for her to find unconsciousness.

\--

That wasn't Finn.

The first thought that registered in her mind was that the weight was too little, and the skin too soft to be her godson. Johanna cracked open an eye, the small slit of her vision blindingly bright and she groaned as she opted to, instead, reach her hand down to her belly where the heat source was. "Cat," she croaked. "Cat?" Answered with a deep, rumbling purr, Johanna became confused. Finnick and Annie did not have cats. They would have _told_ her if they had cats. Right?

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?"

Oh, God.

The woman on the sofa shot up, eyes wide despite the throbbing, stabbing pain behind her eyelids. "You're not Annie."

" _Excuse_ me?"

"You... aren't Annie. This is not my house."

"No it's not?"

"Oh, fuck. This is not my cat."

"N-no. It's my... cat... _Who_ exactly are you?"

"Drunk."

A heavy sigh.

"Figures."

"Finnick?"

"Next door. Do you... live with them... or..."

"No. Let me sleep on the couch when I go out," she croaked, and the olive skinned woman rolled her eyes as she turned to the kitchen, while Johanna briefly registered the daunting hunting knife held in her hand. She returned a minute later bearing water and two painkillers, both of which Johanna readily downed.

"You... shirt." The flush on the other woman's cheeks earned a smirk from Johanna. "Please just... ohmygodputyourshirton."


End file.
